


You Made Flowers Grow In My Lungs

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Music, Mycroft Plays the Piano, Not Canon Compliant, Season/Series 04, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Love, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 21:14:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12219090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "...and although they are beautiful, I can't breath."Mycroft begins to cough flower petals twenty years after he fell in love with his brother.





	1. If You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tikatikox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tikatikox/gifts).



> "The Hanahaki Disease is an illness born from one-sided love, where the person suffering from it throws up and coughs flower petals."  
> A fictional illness :) I know this is somewhat strange is an universe like Sherlock's where everything has to make perfect sense but... let's relax for once, it's tiring to find explanations all the time. :D  
> This is one of my favorite AU, and I hope you'll find it nice too!  
> I'm gifting it to you Tikatikox because it's angst, babe. *shared evil laugh*

“I love you,” Sherlock says, finally, looking straight ahead. It’s sincere, it sounds like a raw confession, and Mycroft’s heart clenches painfully at his brother’s words. Molly is safe, but he doesn’t care. The intuition the elder Holmes has had since years just got confirmed, and even if he never really dared hope, something breaks inside him. He loves Sherlock, and not only as his older brother, but as his  _ everything _ . More that the heartbreak this is causing him, he knows Sherlock wasn’t ready to admit to himself that he could love. And certainly not in front of an audience and because of a death threat. 

He feels like coughing but he keeps it in, not wanting to show any weakness in front of Eurus. They have to get out of there alive. He needs Sherlock to get out alive.

He walks towards his brother to keep him focused, himself ignoring the pain oozing from somewhere around his heart. 

“Sherlock, however hard that was…” He realizes he doesn’t know how to comfort him, and stops. At least his brother’s feelings are returned. And he should have known: Molly never caught the hanahaki disease. 

Eurus reveals her trick and her next sentences sound like they’re aimed at him, and maybe they are: 

“All those complicated little emotions. I lost count. Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you every time.”

Violence explodes, Sherlock destroying the coffin with his fists, and each punch feels like Mycroft is the one being hit.

He still has the urge to cough, his throat burning more and more with each passing second, but he won’t give in. It became a fight against his body’s impulses, and it’s a bit of control he has over the whole situation. 

Next room, new game,  _ an elimination round _ , and Mycroft decides to sacrifice himself, for Sherlock, not for John. Sherlock doesn’t need him anyway, but he’s going to need a friend. Someone he actually loves. His heart breaks a little more at this thought. He feels like he’s out of his body, listening to himself like it is someone else speaking.

Sherlock understands what he’s trying to do. Of course. Mycroft doesn’t know if it’s better or worse. But he’s going to shoot him anyway, they both know it.  

“Goodbye, brother mine. No flowers, my request,” he says, his attempt at humour falling flat as Sherlock’s intense gaze pierces his very soul. Sherlock understands the real meaning behind his request. It means “do not cry over my death, you won’t cough flowers.” They both used to be repelled by people suffering from hanahaki. 

_ The final proof of my love for you, baby brother _ . 

When Sherlock points the gun at himself, he barely manages not to vomit again, but this time it’s his lungs that are burning. The panic takes over and he can’t move, can’t breath, and then, the world turns to black. 

 

\-- 

 

Mycroft wakes up in Eurus’ cell, alone, covered in bright red flowers and hurting everywhere. It looks like an infinity of small blood puddles, on his chest and all around him, as if he had been shot in the heart. He wonders what game his sister is playing.

He recognizes the flowers immediately. 

Poppies. 

Something burns his throat and this time he can’t avoid coughing, doubling over with the force of the fit, and as he tries to catch his breath he realises that the flowers come from him. 

He looks at them, scattered over the floor and on him, and barely manages not to laugh bitterly. How ironic. “Fragile ardor”. It suits him.

They always have been his brother’s favorite, long before the drugs and the new twisted meaning they took when Sherlock became an addict. 

Flowers that can survive in the most harsh environments, growing on top of gravel but that die as soon as you pluck them out of the ground.

Flowers that symbolizes dreams and sleep, but also death. Of course Sherlock would love them. 

Mycroft was ready to die earlier, but he doesn’t want to go like this, by catching the most idiotic disease of all. 

_ Caring is not an advantage _ , his dad repeated again and again when they were children. He had lost his first wife because of the hanahaki disease, when she had fallen in love with someone else and that he hadn’t reciprocate. His father never fell sick. 

Why now? He has been in love with his baby brother for the past twenty years. He thought he was immune to the disease, because his heart had been broken again and again since he realized what Sherlock was to him, and he has had countless occasions to catch it. When Sherlock had his first boyfriend, an abusive asshole that Mycroft scared away. When he made his first overdose, and every time he found him passed out after this. When he met John Watson or Irene Adler.   

But it is the final proof that Sherlock is able to love, and that he is indeed in love, that is going to kill him. 

The Iceman is going to die because he’s in love with his own brother. How pathetic. He almost regrets that Sherlock didn’t shoot him. 

He stands up as he hears voices approaching. He deduces that Sherlock and John are alive and Eurus has been arrested. Good. 

But it’s already too late for him.


	2. How Flowers Wither

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not that happy with what I wrote, but I don't want to let this fic unfinished. I'm sorry? It's been really hard to focus. I will write at least another chapter though.   
> Hope you like it anyway :)

 

Mycroft coughs in a tissue when he’s at work. He keeps them until he’s home where he flushes them down the toilets. It’s strangely satisfying to see them drown.  _ There goes my love for my brother _ , he thinks.

He coughs a lot but he manages to hide the true nature of his disease, pretending it’s a simple cold. Nobody would suspect  _ The Iceman _ to catch the hanahaki disease anyway. Only Anthea looks at him with something akin to worry in her eyes, but she stays silent, and Mycroft is grateful. It’s unpleasant enough already without having to explain  _ who _ did that to him. His fits are longer each time, and the burn he feels in his throat and lungs doesn’t fade away anymore. He’s painfully aware that he only has weeks left and he doesn’t care. What’s the point? He can’t have Sherlock, never could, never will. He just wishes it could kill him already because the wait is  _ tedious _ . 

He doesn’t see his brother at all, too busy with the aftermaths of Sherrinford to drop at 221B. He’s not sure he wants to go. What if Sherlock is with Molly? He will not be able to support the sight of his brother openly in love with someone else. He tries not to think about it when he’s home alone. Of course, he fails, and he feels himself grow weaker, the sickness stronger because Sherlock is  _ his every thought. _ He coughs because he thinks about him. He thinks about him because he coughs. 

Mycroft stars to play the piano again, after years of not even touching it, as a way to finally stop thinking about Sherlock. It doesn’t work, but it brings him a sort of peace. He plays thinking about his brother, his eyes, his lips, his laugh, and one night, he finds himself writing a piece. For Sherlock. It soothes the pain the tiniest bit. There, he can express what he feels, and he pours all the unsaid words into his music. It turns out sweet, loving, but longing and blue too. Just like his feelings for his brother. 

Once he’s satisfied with it, he lets the sheets on the piano, for Sherlock to find. He catches few petals and lets them there too. His brother is going to blame himself, which is stupid, because what could he do?  But Mycroft is dying, and he knows his brother deserves the truth; that it was always him, and not because of someone else. He will know it’s hanahaki anyway and Mycroft wants Sherlock to know that he has always loved him. He looks at the sheet for what feels like hours before going to bed.

Mycroft can’t stop coughing the following morning. He vomits again and again, the pain making his tears streaming down his face. It hurts so much and he can’t stand being so weak. He curses his stupid self for falling for his brother as he battles to breathe. He wipes his mouth and finds blood on his fingers. The flowers stick to it.   

HIs phone pings with a message.  _ Sherlock _ . He reaches out for his phone and almost drops it, his hands shaking so much he barely manages to open it, everything going dark around him. 

_ Could you please come? I have something to tell you. SH _

Mycroft passes out. 

  
  
  


Sherlock doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t hear anything from his brother since Sherrinford, and he is frankly terrified about the reasons why Mycroft would suddenly cut him out of his life like this. He knows he had been too obvious when he said “I love you”. It was  _ obviously _ directed at Mycroft in his heart and mind, but he is sure he made a pretty good show to make it look like it was for Molly. It seems like Mycroft caught up on the real sense of his confession and what now? What if Mycroft doesn’t want to see him, ever?

Sherlock wants to speak to him, to tell him. Maybe to make him understand why he loves him and why it’s not wrong. Why Mycroft doesn’t need to change anything if he doesn’t want to. Why Sherlock needs him to know. Sherlock is tired of acting like he is not in love with his brother. So tired that he’s ready to have hanahaki just to let go of the weight of keeping it a secret for so long.

But he can’t tell him like this. The confession was ripped out of him at Sherrinford and he can’t gather the courage to say it again. It should be easy, three small words, probably under two seconds of actual speaking. But it’s not. Not when Mycroft deserves much, much more than just words. People say it all the time, without meaning it, without thinking about it. 

Sherlock doesn’t want that. That’s why he decides to use music to express his feelings. He knows it’s cheesy and probably a bit pathetic, but Mycroft has always understood. And it will actually sound better than a cringey confession. Plus, it gives his brother the freedom to act as if he doesn’t understand.

The music comes to him naturally. He plays day and night for a week, until he feels like the notes are engraved in his brain and the movements carved into the skin of his fingers.

He sends Mycroft a message when he feels ready and plays nervously with the strings of his violin. When he doesn’t get an answer after a few hours, Sherlock begins to feel really cold. He gets up and, without thinking, rushes outside and gets into a cab.   


	3. It Beats Worlds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in a hurry while singing in broken korean and unbeta'd, I'm sorry if it's full of mistakes. Please bear with me j-j

_ what i feel for you _

_ can't be conveyed in phrasal combinations _

_ it either screams out loud _

_ or stays painfully silent _

_ but i promise _

_ it beats words _

_ it beats worlds _

 

_ \-- _

 

Sherlock finds his  brother unconscious in his bed, buried under poppies, blood dripping down his throat. He understands the situation immediately. Mycroft looks dead, but he can see his torso moves with his labored breaths, but he looks dead,  _ you better not die on me you idiot.  _ Sherlock knows he’s panicking, he should calm down and find a way to heal Mycroft quickly because the disease is so advanced he’s not sure his brother can recover from that and  _ what if he dies oh god you can’t leave me like that.  _ How did he not see that? Mycroft is dying because he thinks Sherlock doesn’t love him back. What a mess. The fragile balance that they had collapsed with his forced confession. But he didn’t mean a word of that. He thought Mycroft knew it. 

“Mycroft? Mycroft! Wake up, come on, I-I have something to tell you… Please, please…” His brother stirs and opens his eyes, coughing a few more petals as he tries to sit down. Sherlock almost cries of relief when their eyes met. He’s going to be okay, Sherlock just needs…

“I- .. I lo- love you.” There, he said it, it should heal him, right? 

Mycroft looks at him dumbfounded, but the expression quickly fades to let place to pity, and god, it hurts. Maybe it’s not him. Maybe he’s in love with someone else. 

“You only say that to try and save me. It’s too late, Sherlock. Leave me alone.” He coughs  more petals, and Sherlock begins to hate poppies. 

He needs to convince him it’s the truth.

“I love you. I love you. I always have. Please, please, believe me, you can’t die-”

“Sherlock, shut up.” Mycroft inhales sharply, as he visibly tries not to throw up. “What about Molly?”

Sherlock feels hurt because his brother should see that he says the truth, but he won’t met his eyes. It’s useless, he won’t believe him, so he searches his mind palace in panic. He never cared much about hanahaki but there must informations about it somewhere, there has to, and suddenly he thinks about the only thing he can do. 

_ But what if it’s not me? _ He doesn’t have time for that, he thinks, as he rushes to the music room to get the violin he knows his brother keeps for him. 

He keeps his eyes closed as he plays. He doesn’t dare look at Mycroft. If he doesn’t understand, if it doesn’t work, Sherlock’s heart will break, he’s sure of it. He managed to keep it safe all these years. It’s the moment of truth and it makes him feel naked, to give it all, to show it all like this. He plays with everything he has. When the last note resonate in the room, he stops breathing, waiting for Mycroft’s reaction. 

Not a sound.

Sherlock opens his eyes. 

Mycroft looks totally overwhelmed, his hands are trembling and Sherlock thinks he can see tears in his eyes. He still had blood around his mouth. 

He gets out of bed with difficulty and slowly makes his way to the music room, leaving Sherlock confused. He follows him though, violin still in hand, afraid that his brother will fall or pass out again. 

Mycroft sits down at the piano and, still shaking, begins to play. 

Sherlock gasps as the notes respond to the ones he played only seconds earlier. The two songs are strangely similar, expressing the same emotions but in a different way:

melancholy, longing,

immeasurable love. 

Sherlock’s is hopeful and restless; Mycroft’s sad and heartsick. 

Sherlock picks up his violin and begins to play too, and their musics, their souls entwine. He didn’t even realize that something was missing in his song, but now it feels like both were part of a whole. He feels breathless and light and as the song comes to an end, it becomes sweeter and sweeter. The last few notes are barely played because Sherlock drops his violin as he plays them and Mycroft turns to face him.

“You love me.”

“I do.”

Mycroft smiles tentatively. Sherlock realizes his brother didn’t cough in the last ten minutes, and he smiles back. 

They will be okay.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this very short AU! Nonsense diseases are hard to write, and I don't want to go too deep with this fic, so I'll let it like this. It's an interesting prompt though, so if you like it you should check the tag and maybe write one? I'd love to see how some of you would do that.   
> I know I didn't even write a kiss BUT I'm working on something new and there will be hot sex. Probably.   
> Thank you for reading!


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